


The Spirit of Christmas

by fajrdrako



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 20:37:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fajrdrako/pseuds/fajrdrako
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Christmas, everyone has his own style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spirit of Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> From a challenge prompt: " Steve (Captain America) and Tony (Iron Man) Exchange gifts for Christmas. Steve keeps it simple and Tony goes overboard."

Early morning, Christmas Eve. Tony Stark's mansion. Tony Stark's bed. Tony Stark's bedroom. Through the high, clear windows, Steve could see the darkness of night fading to grey: it was almost dawn. Insider the room, the lights were low. A fire in the central hearth cast a warm and comforting glow. Standing naked beside it, Steve had to look closely to realize it was not a fire at all, but a convincing, non-flammable hologram.

Just like Tony, he thought. You had to guess what parts were real.

They were going to spend Christmas Day with the Avengers. Tonight they would be back in New York. Last night had been was theirs, their own private time to celebrate Christmas together. They had toasted their love in ginger ale, and their kisses were an experiment in exploration. Their sensuality had deepened and gown; exploded; overwhelmed them both.

It was the best Christmas ever. But...

But.

Steve always felt vaguely uncomfortable in this house, and just as vaguely guilty about it. It was Tony's house, and he should love it for that reason alone. "Mi casa es su casa," Tony had said to him, the first time they spent the night together in this bed. It was true. He meant it. But, but... 

It was so manifestly false. Steve did not belong here. Every sleek, twenty-first century contour of furniture or form was Tony's. Every high-tech gadget was his invention, or had been based on an idea of his, or was produced uniquely for him. The place reeked of twenty-first century privilege and wealth.

Wonderful, yes. But not Steve's thing. He preferred retro design - it comforted him. He liked simplicity. He liked the old, the comfortable, the used. He didn't own an iPhone or an iPad He had an old-fashioned alarm clock by his own bed, not an array of controls that could produce anything from coffee to a symphonies.

It wasn't that he was above using high-tech toys. After all, he had a shield. But...

Steve loved this place, because it was Tony's. It was so Tony's. He loved it because it reflected the wild, madcap, genius brain that pioneered repulsor rays and stealth armour. Inventive engineering had kept Tony alive with bits of wire and scrap when any sane man would have given up.

Under the pine-scented tree - which was no tree at all, but an array of nanofibres - there were presents. Wrapped, probably by Pepper, in red and gold. Steve counted them quickly, and turned to stare again out the window into the lifting darkness. It was probably snowing in New York. This was not a climate for snow. He remembered his childhood, with snow on the rooftops, mud in the alleyways. Carollers whose breath made little clouds around the candles that lit their songbooks. Laughter. Woollen mitts cold and wet from melting snowballs.

Another world. So far away. Or, subjectively, maybe not so far.

"Steve?" Tony's voice was close behind his ear. Only Tony could sneak up on him. There was no need to be on guard, in Tony's bedroom, as he was everywhere else. He trusted Tony as he trusted no one else. Tony was, above all things, safe.

Safe. Warm. Naked. Steve leaned back against his embrace. "Good morning."

"Mmm. The good morning after a good night." His tongue touched of Steve's ear. "Hungry? Want breakfast, or something else?"

Steve put his hands over Tony's, which where caressing his chest. "You're incorrigible."

"You love it. Don't pretend you don't. I was lying there watching you. A gorgeous sight to wake up to. Gorgeous, and lost in thought. What were you thinking about?"

"I was thinking that I don't have a Christmas present for you. And you..." he waved at the packages underneath the tree, "All that's for me. Every one of them says 'to Steve'."

"Look again." Tony poked one package with a bare toe. "That one says, 'To my Captain, with love.' This one: 'To Cap. XXX'. Some of them are dirtier than that. A few are downright filthy. Wrote them myself." He smiled broadly at the thought.

"You're like a five year old." 

"Yeah. So? How else should a person be at Christmas?" He frowned, and turned Steve around to look at his face. "Cap? Don't you like Christmas?"

He looked so worried that Steve smiled. "I do, but..." He waved at the packages. "I don't want this. I don't need this."

"Oh, right, tell me you don't need a new pair of boots. You live like a monk. You deserve to be spoiled."

"Like a monk? Seriously, Tony, monks don't do what we did last night!"

"Too bad for them," said Tony. grinning at the memory.

He reached for Steve, but Steve stepped back. "Listen to me. There are children who don't get Christmas presents at all - give presents to them. The homeless, the hungry, the people in prison, the people in hospitals - you could help them. I don't need presents. I want you, Tony. I don't want your gifts."

Tony regarded him seriously for a moment. "You mean it."

"I do."

"So you don't want the nuclear-powered jet motorcycle?"

"Tony!"

"Okay, okay, I'm kidding. But..." He made a face. "I do charities. You know I do. I want to give you special presents because you're you. This isn't abstract." He waved his hand at the packages. "I bought or made those things for you. I wrapped them myself - bet you thought Pepper did it."

Steve nodded. "Yeah, I did."

"Ye of little faith. I wasn't about to let her see the sexy messages. You know I can work with nanofibres, you think I can't wrap a box? The point is, they're just toys - it doesn't matter what I give you. I've given you my heart, Steve. This stuff symbolizes that."

Steve was embarrassed to find himself tearing up. He couldn't think of anything to say. He swallowed, and said in a low voice, "That's a gift I can accept."

"You already did," said Tony. "You said wanted me, warts and all. Well. These are the warts." He waved, not just at the presents, but at the room, the mansion, the estate. "The drinking, the impulsiveness, the games, the doohickeys. Indulge me."

"I have nothing for you."

"Not true. You've already given it to me. No, I mean it, and I don't mean what we did last night. Which I hope we will do again."

Steve shrugged. "Knowing you, we will. Over and over. What then?"

"It's been a bad year. Losing Stark; losing Obadiah; the Civil War, the aftermath... Thinking I'd lost you. Taking a drink, telling myself it wouldn't be a problem, telling myself I could cope. And I couldn't. Then you came back, and helped me find myself again, and..." He took a deep breath. "I lost more than my morale, Cap. Losing faith in myself, that was nothing. I screwed up. That's fixable. But I lost my faith in my country. You don't know what that feels like."

He continued without giving Steve time to answer. "It was worth nothing, nothing at all, if it was just me, or just you and me. You showed me it was bigger than that. You showed me that America still existed, the America we dreamed of, and it would take more than Norman Osborne or the Asgard Serpent to destroy that. You showed me that the spirit of our country is alive and invulnerable - freedom, justice, strength, integrity - all those things I wanted to believe in, and couldn't. You made me believe in them again."

Steve blinked. "Tony. You made a speech."

"Damn right. It was the best present ever. You gave me something I can't live without, and I'm not going to forget it."

Steve was not the articulate one. He stared at Tony, taking it in: his words, his sincerity, his passion.

Tony was opening his mouth to say something else. He had to stop him.

So he kissed him, hard. Tony kissed back, harder. Then they were out of control again: groping, tasting, sucking, pressing, gasping. It like nothing Steve had ever known before. Whenever they touched, it was like this. 

It really was was the best Christmas ever.

\- - -


End file.
